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CHAPTER NINE
S omething nags at me, things I need to be be doing. I urgently need to get back onto something, but I can’t remember what it is.
I don’t remember anything. I think there was somebody – somebody I recognized. Who? No. It’s gone.
All that I remember is there was a crash. Two crashes? I remember two. How can that be?
When I wake, my head is under the covers. The lights are low. It still takes me a moment to blink my way out of the comfort of sleep, though.
When I can see, the first thing I notice with a shock is, brooding in the chair across the room, the huge frame of the Emperor. His face is in shadow.
“I can feel you watching me. It’s unsettling.”
“Unsettling is it? Well allow me to convey my deepest regrets and consolations. I trust I didn’t intrude upon your beauty sleep.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
He rises. As he stands and draws himself up to his considerable height, my breath catches in my throat.
He tells me, “You’d never have a cat’s chance in Hell of ever working out who I was if I didn’t do that.” My chest rises again as he strides toward the bed.
“Given the totally baffling fact you’re not already writhing on the floor howling my name at the top of your voice, I have to conclude that your natural responses to my movie star sex god looks and pantie melting charisma are still locked away somehow, buried deep among your most treasured memories. How that could happen will no doubt be a mystery for the ages.”
I clear my throat. “You know who I am, don’t you.”
He comes even closer.
With a little difficulty, I tell him “It’s getting hard to breathe with you looming like that.”
The faintest trace of his smile could swallow me up. “The doctor says we should let your memories return naturally. To let them come back in their own time.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“It’s not that. “His eyebrows tighten. “Okay, it is partly that.”
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“Not particularly, no. But there’s more. Something else.”
I say, “You’re in a hurry. I get that. Maybe you should be patient.”
I wonder if it’s just out of concern that he wants me to be better. He remembers me and he wants me back as I was. No, I think something more anxious is at work here.
“All three of you,” I say, “you’re on edge.”
“We’re protecting you.”
“Like, as in, protective custody? Or more like protecting an investment?“
”I wouldn’t put it like that.”
We lock eyes for a long moment.
“Okay, look,” I tell him, “It would be really nice if I could just wake up and get myself out of bed, showered and dressed in peace.”
He strides the last step to the bedside and now I really can’t breathe.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Peace and privacy,” I tell him with my arm waving like a sheet in a gale.
He stops. Lifts my chin with one finger. I tremble. I daren’t speak.
Arrogant sarcasm spreads from his eyes, all the way across his face.
The only way that I can resist slapping straight across his smug grin is by focussing on how hard his chin is and how much it would be bound to hurt my hand. Knowing for sure that he would catch my arm mid air is a factor, too. That would give him too good a chance to play with me and I really couldn’t bear that.
Especially not before I’ve even had a chance to get myself up.
I sit straight up and put my hands on my hips, waiting for him to find the decency to leave and give me some space.
He bursts out laughing. When I hurl the pillows at him, one after another, all it does is it makes him laugh even harder.
“Okay, little tiger cub. I’ll give you a couple of minutes while I get you some coffee and juice.”
“What time is it?” I ask him. “How long was I asleep?”
“Just now?” He asks, “Day and a night. Well, all night, then a day and a night. It’s actually morning now.” He’s still laughing. “You’ve got a chance to jump on the merry go round at a convenient entry point.”
As soon as the door closes, I remember to check the drawer by the bed. There it is. A Sig Sauer P226. Lifting it, a comfortable, familiar feeling of power and strength glows through me. The weight in my hand told me immediately that it’s fully loaded. I drop out the magazine to double check. I pull back the slide and check the chamber.
Lifting it with both hands at full extent, I lean my head to sight along the barrel.
With a sense of satisfaction and a more comfortable feeling of security, I silently replace the gun and slide the drawer shut.
Next I scoot to the windows. Starting from the near and of the wall, I look for switches to flip the total bronzed blackness to transparent. A plate of buttons and sliders on the wall have no labels on them. Trying them one by one, I get the curtains to slide open — just a couple of inches is enough — then shut. Then one slider sets the windows fading to clear. I quickly slip them back to black.
In the instant the glass was semi-transparent, I got a glimpse outside. There wasn’t much to see apart from nearby shrubs and bushes, and more distant trees.
I’m not too far up from the ground. About ten feet at most. The edges of the windows have catches. I can’t see a lock, though they could be electronic. Whatever, I won’t risk trying to open one until I’m ready to slip out. There’s too much chance of an alarm going off.
When the glass is back to black, and before I move away, I peer into the reflections for some clues about my appearance. A short, very curvy blonde woman in loose sweats and in critical need of a hairdo pouts back at me with a determined frown.
In the dark glass, it’s hard to be sure, but the side of her face looks like it’s bruised. Not swollen, just dark and discolored. Even looking straight into her eyes and meeting her gaze back at me, I don’t feel any spark or light of recognition.
As I make my way to the bathroom I’m wondering. Have they covered all the mirrors to spare me from having to see some bruising? That would seem unlikely. Or do they really want to keep me from recovering my memory?
Starting the shower, I think about it. They all talk about it being a matter of urgency, but yet they’re ready to take the doctor’s advice to just wait it out.
Under the water, my mind drifts to more immediate and physical concerns. As I’m soaping and lathering, running my hands over my body, I’m recalling images.
The stern looks and the heartless, mocking laugh of the Emperor. His lip curls in a way that makes me wet.
The devious mind that lurks behind the hot, dreamy eyes of the evil Mastermind. His long, dexterous fingers, the way they slide against his hard jaw and the cleft in his chin.
And my Warrior. Huge, sculpted. Hot as hell and hard as steel.
All three of my captors are as cool as ice on the outside, hot as pokers underneath. I would climb the bones of any one or all three of them at the drop of a lacy panty.
While the recollections of their faces smirk and leer at me in my mind, my fingers have taken the lathering gel into distracting places. All my folds and crevices seem to sting and ache from neglect and are crying out for some soothing massage and comforting friction.
The door to the room outside clicks open and I scramble and slip on the wet tiles. My hand slaps against the wall as I gasp and I nearly fall. I can’t remember if I even shut the bathroom door properly, much less whether I bolted it.
I call out, “I’m in the bathroom.” My voice cracks and gives me away.
The laugh that I hear back is not the Emperor’s. It has to be my Warrior.
I pull my hair through a towel and wrap it around my head. Quickly I slip myself into the thick, fluffy bathrobe that hangs on the back of the door.
“Coffee smells fantastic.” I pace over to him as he sets the tray down. As he straightens up, I stand closer and look up at him. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring it.”
I wonder if my Past Self is naturally as slutty and shameless as this. While I’m telling myself how desperate my situation is, I can’t help noticing that these moves seem to come pretty easy.
Looking inside, I’m not seeing much in the way of disapproval, either.
His slow, sardonic blink only makes me hotter and I lean against him as he tells me, “The others had to go into the city.”
“Oh,” I tip my head and blink. “What part of the city?”
“Minxy,” he slaps my ass through the thick toweling. “But you’ll need to be more clever than that, to catch even me out.”
Reaching up, stretching my body against him, I trace the line of his chin with a finger.
My pussy is aching and I can smell how hot and wet I am. My nips scrape the inside of the toweling robe and the hardness of his body against the press of my soft breasts is making me weak with flutterings inside.
My attempt at a seductive tease is having more effect on me than it seems to have on him. My efforts are not entirely wasted, though. I’m certainly achieving the desired effect on one part of him.
The lengthening pole pressed into my stomach and just below my tits is making my mouth water. In all, my attempts to cast spells over him are leaving me breathless.
As I drop into the chair, I give him a sulky look and a pout.
He hitches his pants to sit on the stool as he pours me coffee.
His eyes hold mine like a tiger, fixing his prey. “Your sultry seductress act is really coming along. Did you try it out on either of the others yet?”
“Seriously,” I say, “What other kinds of fun am I going to have in this up-market prison cell? Anyway,” I tell him, “Don’t be so heartless. I have real feelings for you.” I lean forward to take the coffee cup. “If you’d only let yourself off your tight-ass leash, I think you’d admit that you have feelings for me.”
He looks from the front of my gown, up into my eyes. “I have tight, hot, rock hard feelings for you right now.”
“And here’s me trying to be serious.” I sit back with my coffee.
With that rumbling chuckle he says, “I thought you were after some fun.”
He stands.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
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- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10 (Reading here)
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
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- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
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- Page 29
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- Page 39
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- Page 43
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- Page 46